


An Anniversary to Remember

by FleetingDesires



Series: Love Me Freely [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anthea (Sherlock) is the Best PA, Character Reactions, Established Relationship, Fluff, Frottage, M/M, Mild Smut, Mycroft Holmes IS the British Government, Mycroft is Sweet, Sherlock is a Good Boyfriend, Sibling Incest, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, greg is resigned to his mad friends, john is a nimby right-winger, post-chapter 2 tags:, the parents holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:15:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25235302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleetingDesires/pseuds/FleetingDesires
Summary: Being the British Government has its benefits, chief of which is to shape laws to your satisfaction.***Sherlock scoffed at the papers presented. “An Act of Parliament? What the hell do I….oh.” He fell silent as he read the title, putting the glass down on a nearby side table as he used both hands to quickly flip through the pages.Mycroft gently cleared his throat. “The Sexual Offences Amendment Act has been granted Royal Assent, being declared this morning by Parliament..."
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes
Series: Love Me Freely [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1986172
Comments: 103
Kudos: 107





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Winds of Change](https://archiveofourown.org/works/845599) by [L_Morgan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_Morgan/pseuds/L_Morgan). 



_Beep! Beep! Beep! Smack._

Furrowing his brow, Mycroft eventually blinks one eye open to inspect the offending object. _5.31am_ , it taunts. At his side, dark curls burrow closer into his chest, the arm around him drawing him closer.

“No,” a sleepy baritone says. “Stay in bed.”

Mycroft tightens his own grip around the man, feeling a deep sense of contentment. He is quiet for a few moments as he indulges himself in running his hand up and down the side of the man’s body. No matter how long it has been, or how many times he finds himself in this position, there is truly nothing he wouldn’t give to experience these stolen morning moments for the rest of his life.

“Who are you, and what have you done to Sherlock, the great detective who needs no sleep?” he teases.

“He had not yet experienced having you in his bed,” came the response, accompanied by faint kisses on his chest. Sherlock shifts to straddle Mycroft, seeking a better position to trail kisses up the side of his neck, peppering it with kisses and soft bites.

“I believe it is my bed we are presently in,” Mycroft says, as he tilts his neck to give better access.

“Pedantry isn’t attractive, My,” Sherlock rejoins, nibbling down on his earlobe.

“And yet…” Mycroft cants his hips, rubbing their burgeoning erections together, eliciting a soft groan.

“Contrariness isn’t attractive, either.” Sherlock returns the thrust, as the hands on his hips explore his body and causes him to shiver.

Mycroft’s eyes flashes with amusement. “Hello, pot.” He reaches a hand between them, clasping their cocks together as the two lazily frot against each other.

“If you insist on endearments, I rather prefer ‘pet’, dear brother,” biting down on Mycroft’s jawline.

“Alright, pet.” He acquiesces, running his hands through the curls on Sherlock’s head.

As they stroke each other to completion, another alarm sounds, this time from the other side of the bed. Groans of pleasure morph into groans of agony, as two sticky individuals clasp each other closer together. An arm shoots out, launching Sherlock’s phone, the offending object, across the room where it continues to buzz dimly.

***

“You have put off my entire diary by half an hour, brother mine. Anthea will be cross with you.” Mycroft says at the door, as he picks up his umbrella and briefcase.

“Pfft. If she hasn’t yet learned by now to accommodate your schedule to the temptations of my body, brother mine, _you_ should be cross with _her_.”

Shooting him a fond, exasperated look as they walk to his car, Mycroft replies, “As much as I would love to indulge my annoying little brother in witty repartees, I must depart for Whitehall post-haste. Do remember we have an event tonight at the Palace, pet.”

“Yes, yes, what better way to celebrate an anniversary than to throw it in the faces of stuffy dignitaries? I will be here at half past six.”

“My thoughts exactly. _Ciao ciao, amore mio._ ” With a light kiss, Mycroft enters the car, and watches Sherlock set off on foot, Belstaff wrapped around his body to ward off the morning chill.

“Let us depart, Andrew. Whitehall, please,” absentmindedly instructing his driver as he pulls out his phone.

_Are things in hand? MH_

_Yes, sir. Your presence is requested at Buckingham Palace at 10am. Royal Assent will have been declared before your meeting with Ambassador Radford at noon. A_

_Excellent. What of the jeweller? MH_

_He is also scheduled in, sir. If I may say so, this uncharacteristic micromanagement is quite endearing, sir. A_

_Impertinence shall not be rewarded. MH_

_But a light schedule today, sir, I think will be. Please attend to your diary. A_

Stalking towards his office, Mycroft had to fight a smile down as he inspects his diary ( _as instructed_ , he grumbles). _Best not to give Anthea the satisfaction of a silly grin. That will never do._ He lifts his head, stony demeanour intact, as he passes her desk.

“Join me, Anthea,” he says before sweeping into his office. As she closed the door behind her, Mycroft added with a small smile, “before we get all giddy and ahead of ourselves, let us first attend to matters of state. Start with the Panama situation, please.”

15 minutes later, Mycroft nods with satisfaction as Anthea completes her morning update. “I shall refrain from referring to _them_ as idiots, as beyond all prior experience, they seem not to earn that title today. And as for my unplanned Palace excursion?”

“Yes, sir,” Anthea begins with a twinkle in her eye, “Her Majesty seems to have somehow caught wind of your machinations and wishes to, shall we say, conduct an ardent discussion of the matter. One does not turn down the Queen, sir.”

Mycroft tamps down a groan. “Her Majesty utilises this fact to my great disadvantage.”

Anthea purses her lips together to prevent a chuckle from escaping, as the notorious Iceman drops his head to his table in what constitutes for him a dramatic expression of profound suffering. “Oh, to be a fly on the wall…” At the glare she receives, Anthea hurries on. “If that is all, sir, your first appointment shall be arriving in the next five minutes.”

“If I find out that it was you who leaked it to Her Majesty, Anthea, there will be a price to pay. And no,” he added at the look on her face, “you shall not be present at this meeting to observe my humiliation.”

Anthea pouted. “Oh, very well, sir. Spoil my fun.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anniversaries are for presents. Don't fight me, I am intractable on this issue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your kind comments last chapter, I hope you will enjoy this one as well. This turned out even fluffier than I expected.
> 
> If you are reading contemporaneously, I have found the original fic and linked it - I'd highly recommend going back to the Chapter 1 notes to find the link.

A light schedule, for Mycroft, consisted of leaving the office by 4pm that day. The morning’s activities meant that lunch consisted of a quick sandwich at his desk, but this was par for the course anyway and Mycroft didn’t much care. With a wink from Anthea as she passed him his briefcase, he set off for home, to begin his portion of the preparations for the evening’s events.

He set the briefcase not in his office, but in his bedroom. Mycroft took great care with his ablutions this afternoon. A thorough, invigorating shower, a close shave, complimented by the aftershave and cologne that Sherlock favoured.

There was nothing special about tonight’s event, save that it was a white tie event. Mycroft dressed with his customary diligence, opening his briefcase to extract a pair of cufflinks to use and smiling as he did so. Putting on his tails, he then extracted a small sheaf of papers, inserting them into the inner pocket, as well as two small boxes, each going into a trouser pocket.

***

As Mycroft nursed a scotch in his parlour, he assessed his own state of mind. _Nerves? Yes, but not unduly so. List of state matters to discuss? Briefed. Must further remember to speak to the French Ambassadress. Quelling look? No, smug may be better. No one can hope to measure up to Sherlock. Oh, Sherlock. Synonymous with shenanigans. Well, there is no planning for that. Best to erase aforesaid nerves, all the better to deal with it. Besides, he has been relatively good in recent years. Perhaps he can be induced to-_

“Best leave the mischief to me, brother mine,” a deep baritone intoned from the threshold to the parlour, interrupting his ruminations.

“Ah, Sherlock.” Casting over a glance to his brother, as always he was first captivated by those beautiful green-blue eyes. Appraising Sherlock as he approached the man, Mycroft was indeed very appreciative of the sharp figure his brother cut in his own tailored dress suit. He greeted the man with a short, sweet kiss, taking pains not to deepen the kiss or press their lower bodies together before he could spoil the many surprises he had. “Happy anniversary, my ravishing pet.”

“And to you as well, love,” Sherlock replied, responding with a kiss of his own. “I shall indulge your whims for goldfish celebrations of the passage of time. Perhaps a drink before we set off to terrorise the town, then?”

Chuckling, Mycroft went to the bar to retrieve the glass he had already prepared for Sherlock, as the younger man took a seat in the armchair he had claimed as his own. “With your refreshment, I present also some light reading. I know how you love to edify your mind.” He handed Sherlock his drink, before flourishing the papers from his inner coat pocket.

Taking a sip, Sherlock scoffed at the papers presented. “An Act of Parliament? What the hell do I…. _oh_.” He fell silent as he read the title, putting the glass down on a nearby side table as he used both hands to quickly flip through the pages.

Mycroft gently cleared his throat. “The Sexual Offences Amendment Act has been granted Royal Assent, being declared this morning by Parliament. As you well know, sections 64 and 65 of the Sexual Offences Act were the ones to condemn our love as illegal. With the amendment now on the books and we are quite free to now live our lives without fear of legal repercussions.”

As Mycroft spoke, Sherlock found the relevant portion of text that altered the offending law.

  1. _New subsection (3AA) to be inserted at section 64 of the Sexual Offences Act 2003 as follows: “Where subsection (1) applies, A does not commit an offence if B is of the same gender.”_
  2. _New subsection (3AA) to be inserted at section 65 of the Sexual Offences Act 2003 as follows: “Where subsection (1) applies, A does not commit an offence if B is of the same gender.”_



Sherlock lifted his eyes from the page to meet his brother’s, opening in shock and joy as his shoulders slumped forward with an exhale, as his body released the weight on his mind that he had been forcefully pushing aside ever since they had started their love affair three years ago. Pushing the papers into the chair, Sherlock turned his palms face up in a clear invitation.

Mycroft immediately strode over, dropping to a knee to take his lover’s hands in his own. Nothing more needed to be said of sentiment; their eyes spoke volumes for them, as each caressed the hand of the other while they met in a deep kiss conveying love and affection and gratefulness.

After a few minutes, Sherlock broke the kiss, pulling back to meet his brother’s eyes. Laughing, he said, “It really does pay to run the Government, doesn’t it.”

Mycroft’s eyes twinkled at him in merriment as he gave him a small shrug. “I am only sorry it took this long. I had to coral favours from both Houses of Parliament, but you know as well as I do that the goldfish will always slip up and come running to me at some point. After that, it was a mere nothing to have this slipped into the amending bill.”

“Nevertheless, thank you for arranging it. How very _fortuitous_ that it was passed today, of all days.”

“Ah, yes, that was something of a finagling. Obviously I couldn’t tell them _why_ it needed to be today, but trust that it was politically expedient for all parties involved in the end.”

At the light kneading of his thigh from Mycroft’s released hand, Sherlock leaned further away, assessing. “Was there something else, brother? You seem nervous.” Casting his gaze towards the kneading hand, he further observed, “and are those cufflinks new? They are exquisite, you clotheshorse.”

Mycroft uncharacteristically blushed at this pronouncement. “These were gifted to me today by Her Majesty herself. Anthea, no doubt, must have given discreet word of my plans to the Queen. I suppose this is her way of expressing her congratulations.” Digging into his trouser pocket, he produced a slim jeweller’s box, opening it while saying, “There is a pair for you, as well. She wished me to express to you her fondest regards.”

Both pairs of cufflinks bore the symbol of the Holmes family crest, set atop a circular base. But where Mycroft’s pair had an onyx base encircled with creamy mother-of-pearl on the edges, Sherlock’s had the colour scheme in the inverse. It was a beautifully matching pair, one that showed off their shared lineage and spoke of their intertwined lives and protectiveness over the other.

The meaning behind the gift, in context, could not be misunderstood, and yet… “Do you mean to say that the Queen _approves_?” Sherlock asked incredulously.

 _I think she rather approves of anyone that could tame you, pet._ Mycroft resisted the urge to purse his lips and thought better about saying this aloud, instead proceeding carefully. “I think…Her Majesty may have taken a special interest in my previously non-existent private life after so many decades of being a trusted advisor, and she rather likes your straightforward manner. In any case, the Royal Family is hardly one to judge when it comes to incestuous affairs,” adding the last part in a dry tone. 

“None quite as close as ours, though. Ooh, imagine William and Harry–“

“Don’t even complete that thought,” Mycroft interrupted as he set to replacing Sherlock’s cufflinks.

“Why, the Palace hasn’t bugged your parlour, have they?”

“You _know_ I take regular appearances with their father and grandmother. How am I to look them in the eye?”

“This is meant to shut me up how?”

With a growl, Mycroft pinned Sherlock to the back of the chair with a rough kiss, demanding entrance to do battle with that infernal tongue. With a smack, he separated a few moments later, colour rising high in both sets of cheeks.

“I’m not quite sure how positive reinforcement is supposed to help, but the ends possibly justify your means,” Sherlock said breathily.

“This is also true of most of my work, unfortunately.” Mycroft rose to his feet with a wink. Grabbing his own drink, Mycroft settled on the arm of Sherlock’s chair.

Mycroft nuzzled in to Sherlock’s hair, one hand idly twirling through some of its curls. Even though he has already catalogued and filed away the smell, sense, and feel of it many times, he always finds that he cherishes making one more dataset in his collection. It makes it easier to recall these quiet moments, and links it to all those other moments where he has had the privilege of doing just exactly this. Three years in and it still amazes Mycroft of the depth of feeling he has for his brother. He ponders the last little box in his pocket.

Turning his head to avoid a mouthful of hair, Mycroft speaks softly. “Would you think me terribly sentimental if I said I had a third gift for you, in honour of our third anniversary? One of them may have been from the Queen, but it seems oddly apt.”

“Of course you are, but then you’ve turned me into a horrid sentimentalist as well, so I suppose I can’t fault you for it. I haven’t got you anything, though.” Sherlock turned to meet Mycroft with apologetic eyes.

“It’s not a transactional relationship, Sherlock. Simply being with you like this is a gift unto itself, and I don’t expect anything more from you, or for that matter, anything less anymore.” Withdrawing the box from his pocket, he continues. “If the past years have shown me anything, it is that I derive immeasurable joy from being not only the recipient of your affections, but to be certain that our love binds you as deeply as it binds me. I am heartened each morning I wake to find you in my arms and to see the same joy reflected in your eyes. You are already my partner in all things, and my heart and my soul. Now that we are able to, I wish to be your partner in the eyes of the law, as well. Will you accept?” Speech completed, he opens the blood red box to reveal a pair of rings.

Sherlock simply gaped at it for a few long moments, apparently stunned into silence. Blinking, he willed away his tears as he looked back up to Mycroft. “Mycroft, I…I never thought this was possible for us. Not ten minutes ago you changed all of that. And now instead of going to a party as law-breaking incestuous paramours, we’ll be going as socially reprehensible incestuous fiancés? Sign me up for that any day, Mycroft,” he laughs into Mycroft’s mouth as he peppers the older man with kisses. “Of course I accept, Mycroft, I love you so much my heart is fit to burst and I am positively _giddy_ with all the plans I have to liven up the stuffy parties I have to attend as your husband.”

Mycroft grins as he returns Sherlock’s enthusiastic kisses. “Oh dear, I might not have thought this through very well.”

“Lies and balderdash, you knew exactly what, and _who_ , you were getting into. At any rate, it’s too late now,” he grins, putting a ring on his left ring finger and waggling it in front of Mycroft. Taking up the other one in his hand, he reaches for Mycroft’s, sobering as he says, “Thank you, Mycroft, for being the best big brother, boyfriend, and now fiancé mine. Thank you for loving me even when I was snarky, rude, and mean to you. Thank you for loving me despite myself, and for who I am now. You will never know how much it means to me to be deserving of you, but I will strive to show it to you for the rest of our days together.” So said, he slipped the ring onto Mycroft.

“ _Je ne regrette rien_ , dear brother, dear heart. It has brought you to me in this moment, and I would not change a thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story ends here; some derivative reaction scenes in the following chapters. Thanks for reading along! x


	3. Vignette: Lestrade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade finds out. Well, the boys weren't really trying to hide it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I was done with this story, then inspiration hit. Enjoy!

"The looks on all their faces was _priceless_ , Mycroft!" Sherlock laughed as he climbed out of the car.

Mycroft chuckled as he followed close behind. "Are you drunk on champange, or subversion?"

"Can't it be both? It was so much fun even without the spectre of murder. Simply _marvellous_."

Mycroft let them into the house, still laughing, as Sherlock wrapped his arms around him. He reached up to pull Mycroft into a searing kiss. "Let me show you how very appreciative I am, fiance mine," he said, tugging Mycroft towards the bedroom.

***

Several satisfying hours later, the pair finally drifted off to sleep, having worked off the adrenaline and excitement the night brought them. It felt like no time had passed at all before they were awoken by Sherlock's ringing phone. Mycroft groaned, pushing his face deeper into the pillow as he reflexively tightened his hold on Sherlock.

Sherlock blinked one eye open groggily, assessing the caller before growling into the phone. "What?"

 _Sorry for waking you up, Sherlock. I've got a locked room murder here. Could really use your help_.

Sherlock hummed sleepily, totally exhausted. "Hmm, I've had a long night, Lestrade. Can you just take many, many pictures and I'll see you later?"

Lestrade was silent for a moment before he chuckled. _I never thought I'd see the day where the great Sherlock Holmes would be shagged out_.

"There was a party before that as well, so your deduction is not entirely accurate."

_Well, I can't force you, but we are wading in blood over here. I have no idea how anyone could have left this room without leaving some sort of evidence, and yet we have found nothing._

_"_ Yes, fascinating. Pictures. Lots of them. I'm too comfortable right now."

Mycroft lets out a mournful groan when he heard muffled sounds continue to emanate from Sherlock's phone. Annoyed, he slaps the phone out of Sherlock's grasp, eliciting a sound of protest from him. Uncaring, he put it to his own ear, and said, "Detective Inspector, you are disrupting my sleep. Sherlock will see you when he can, and since he is clearly less than enthused at the prospect of getting out of bed right now, do go away and leave us in peace for a few more hours." He lifted the phone off his face, handing it back to Sherlock as the DI sputtered on the other end.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Well, you heard the man. I'll be in your office at 8."

"10," Mycroft grumbled.

"We'll compromise at 9."

"Good _bye_ , Lestrade," Mycroft added, fingers blindly reaching for the spot on the screen to hang up.

Lestrade soon heard a soft laugh that was abruptly cut off, and he just stood there staring into the distance. That was _Mycroft_. He'd woken the man up too many times not to recognised it instantly. And Sherlock– Which meant, obviously– _Oh, just what the everloving fuck is going on?_

***

Lestrade was hip-deep in paperwork and on his third cup of coffee when Sherlock, dramatic as ever, billowed into his office. "Well? Have you solved it yet?" Sherlock demanded.

Lestrade looked up, scanning Sherlock. He looked about the same as ever, in a suit that probably cost more than his month's salary, hair in its usual ruffled state, that trademarked wicked glee in his eyes. Sherlock apparently decided he needed some help with this deductive exercise, and he watched as Sherlock cocked his left hand on his hips, displaying quite clearly that the real estate on his left ring fringer was now taken.

Furrowing his brow, he looked to the open office door. "Close that," he pointed at it, "and sit down."

It was a testament to Sherlock's good mood that he did as he was told, settling into a visitor's chair and fixing Lestrade with the same glee in his eyes.

Lestrade let out a breath, and tried to calm his heart rate so he wouldn't end up yelling. After several moments of staring at the insolent man in front of him, he gave up. "Please explain, because there must be a damn good reason why you and _Mycroft_ have put me into this position. I sweep aside many things, Sherlock, but how can you ask me to set aside what amounts to a brazen confession?"

Sherlock laughed. "Yes, I rather thought dear brother had made that deduction blatantly obvious even for you. There is nothing to confess, Lestrade. Yes, we are in a relationship. A sexual, romantic one. But you won't be arresting a Holmes today."

"It's not my division, but I can surely hand you over to the right one. I'm a policeman, Sherlock, and regardless of my… _affection_ for you lot I'm still bound to uphold the law. Surely you know incest is illegal. Have the two of you lost your mind? I'm assuming this has been going on for a while, even!"

"Three years yesterday. Are you sure it's illegal? You should check your facts, Lestrade."

"Am I sure– Of course I'm sure! Last I heard, people still hated the idea of incest. I can't see Parliament removing it from the books without some sort of outcry." Nevertheless, he pulled up the legislation on his computer, scrolling to the right section. "I can't believe I fell for this, because, yes, it's still here!" His eyes flashed at Sherlock.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Don't quit your day job, Lestrade, clearly even simple legal research is too much for you. Please return your attention to subsection (3AA)."

Lestrade's eyes widened as he located the subsection, and Sherlock continued. "You are right that people would be scandalised if it were simply struck off, so Mycroft simply arranged for the amendment to benefit _our_ particular situation. I hate to admit it, but it was a clever move."

Lestrade huffed, partly out of relief, and partly out of indignation. "If this isn't an abuse of power, I don't know what is. It's things like this that make the working man hate people in power. Everyone tiptoes around the law while people like you and Mycroft just shape it to your liking."

Sherlock shrugged. "And why do you, as you say, 'sweep aside' things? You should know that the law is patently stupid sometimes. What goes on between Mycroft and I hurts no one. And with that," he pointed at the screen, "others in our position benefit as well. Laws don't come in-built into a country, Lestrade. People in power decided to make them. And laws change all the time! People protest to change laws to their liking! I could go on, but I'm not particularly interested in having a conversation about politics and legal theory."

Lestrade opened and closed his mouth for a few moments, clearly struggling. Finally, he sighed. "It just feels _wrong_ that Mycroft, an unelected official, can bring this about. But everything he does, I suppose, falls into that category." He sighed again, clearing his head. "Well, congratulations I suppose. I'm glad I don't have to arrest you or Mycroft, but I can't deny this is very, extremely weird, mostly because of your history. Obviously you two are happy."

Sherlock grinned devilishly. "Very. In fact, we're getting married."

Lestrade nearly fell out of his chair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos appreciated! Come talk to me ;)


	4. Vignette: John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is very annoying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I'm not sure if this chapter is good enough.  
> You guys: *1000 hits*  
> Me: Fuck it, it's going up.
> 
> Thanks for loving this story along with me! This chapter isn't terribly fluffy but eh...it is what it is.

Despite the revelation, a murderer still had to be caught. John had caught several strange looks from Lestrade over the course of the last few days, though for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why. Sherlock, for his part, ignored this, and had seemed positively jovial. Nothing was making sense, except that they had caught the murderer, again.

Both of them were running on fumes by the time they arrived back at Baker Street, where Sherlock promptly flopped face-first on the couch with a grunt. Too tired to lecture, John retreated to his bedroom to catch some much needed rest, as well.

***

He woke several hours later to find that the sky had gotten dark. Groggily, he descended the stairs for a cup of tea and a bite to eat. He stopped in his tracks when he spied a visitor sitting in Sherlock's armchair. Predictably, Sherlock was still out cold on the couch.

"Mycroft. What are you doing here?"

"I came to speak with my brother, but it seems he has not been taking care of himself again."

John shrugged, stifling a yawn. "Yeah, we've just finished a case. You know how he gets."

"Of course. How long has he been asleep for?"

"About three hours, so he should be awake pretty soon."

"Good, then my visit has not been a waste. There's some finger food in the kitchen, if you'd like to join me."

John shuffled to the kitchen, Mycroft following close behind. Once they had settled with their respective mugs of tea, he took a further few minutes to clear the sleep from his brain. This is when he noticed a different ring on Mycroft's hand. On the left hand. One that somehow looked familiar, but he couldn't quite tell why.

John slowly put his mug down. Meeting Mycroft's eyes nervously, he pointed with his chin. "So, you uh, got married, did you?"

Mycroft shot him a surprised look, his eyes flicking towards the kitchen door before it quickly returned to John. He spun the ring with his thumb before speaking. "No, I got engaged." He smiled weakly.

John took a moment to gape. After a moment, he said cautiously, "Well, congratulations. Not every day a woman proposes, eh?" He attempted a grin.

Mycroft chuckled. "That may be true, but women are…not my area."

"I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have assumed."

"It's no matter. My sexuality does not define me in the least, though I had thought it at least obvious."

Just then, the kitchen door swung open to admit a bleary Sherlock. "I suppose the two of you intended to wake me with your incessant chatter." He slumped into a chair next to Mycroft, casually draping his left arm across the back of Mycroft's chair as he stole the mug from Mycroft's hands to drink from it.

"Oh, have we woken Sleeping Beauty from an exhaustion nap? I'm ever so sorry," Mycroft drawled, his eyes flashing at Sherlock.

Sherlock groaned, rubbing his eyes. "I know, I know. But this guy was operating on a strict schedule! If I hadn't worked as hard as I did he would have killed another tonight. I can't be sorry, _liebling_." He gave Mycroft a pleading look.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Not your most subtle manipulation there, _liebling_. But for some reason I am inclined to be conciliatory today, so there shall be no repercussions for you."

"Oh my god, that's where I've seen it before!" John interjected, jumping up from his chair andpointing accusatorily at the ring on Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock gaped at him, looking at Mycroft's, looking at his own, and looked up again. "It certainly took you long enough to see, John. I'm thinking maybe he should have gotten me something more blindingly obvious, though I'm not sure what would suffice aside from holding up a giant sign."

" _What?_ " John exclaimed incredulously, scurrying to press his back against the kitchen counter. "You… this cannot be… are you trying to have me on?!"

"There's no need to act like its contagious," Sherlock said in a warning tone.

"I'd recommend sitting down and drinking your tea to compose yourself, John," Mycroft added.

As John moved to comply, Mycroft turned his attention to Sherlock. "Now that, unfathomably, you are just getting around to this conversation, would you like me here or shall I be conveniently nearby, at say, Speedy's?"

"Speedy's. I'll text you. Thanks, My." As he got up to leave, Sherlock grabbed on to a hand, pressing a quick kiss to it. Mycroft smiled softly, caressing his cheek before retrieving his hand.

"I'll be off then. Sherlock. John." A few moments later, the sound of the front door being firmly shut reverberated through the quiet kitchen.

"Well," John huffed after a few moments of silence. "I've seen a lot, Sherlock, with you and in the army, but that," he gesticulated vaguely, "was creepy and disturbing even by comparison. He's your brother, Sherlock! Surely even you know that is wrong!"

"Careful there, John. I will sit here for a conversation over tea with you, but I will not be lectured at."

"Come on, Sherlock, you'll go to prison for this! How could you and Mycroft, two of the smartest– no, _the_ smartest men I know, be so… so blasé about this?!"

"Stop fucking yelling at me like I'm a child, John. Do you think we'd have revealed ourselves to you if it were still illegal? You've failed to observe everything, John, we've been together for three years now. If we hadn't made sure we were safe you would still not know anything!"

John sucked in a shocked breath, staring at Sherlock. "Three _years_? Three… and you never said a thing."

Sherlock rolled his eyes impatiently. "You've pointed out yourself why I couldn't."

John sighed. "Never mind that. Did you say incest isn't illegal anymore?"

"Well, it still is, but not for homosexual relationships. Which, come to think of it, shouldn't have been a terribly hard argument for Mycroft to put forth to whoever he needed to convince. It's not like we'll be producing deformed children."

"…Sure. But Sherlock, just because it isn't illegal doesn't mean it isn't wrong. He's your big brother, for Christ's sake! He's known you all your life! Oh god. Has this happened before? Did he groom you? Is that why you did drugs?!" John demanded, getting more agitated by the sentence.

"No!" Sherlock slammed a fist on the table, standing up to pace aggressively around the kitchen. "Fucking hell, John, you, of all the people in London, you have had a front row seat to the Sherlock and Mycroft show. Have you ever seen him do anything more menacing to me than track me around via CCTV? How can you not observe? He exfiltrated me from Serbia, _alone_. Is that the sort of person who would ever do that to me?" Sherlock sat back down, eyes blazing. "You tell me then, how this is wrong. How it is wrong for me to be with someone who would never hurt me. How it is wrong for me to accept the love of one who is wholly devoted to me. How it is wrong to love the one person in the world who knows me the best. Tell me, John, what is it about the fact that we share some DNA that makes this wrong?"

John looked helplessly at Sherlock, his eyes furrowed at his impassioned outburst, his mind trying, and noticeably failing, to come up with any explanations for Sherlock. Finally, he said, "I don't know, Sherlock, I'm not a scientist, nor have I done any research on this, but surely the fact that most everyone you ask would say that it is wrong would show some basis in fact!"

"Does it? People are wrong all the time! Ask a hundred of our fans and they would all say we were a couple. I distinctly remember a period of two years where the tabloids would not shut the fuck up about it. Maybe you could also cast your mind back to 1895 and recall how they treated Oscar Wilde for the heinous crime of being gay. People getting everything wrong is how I became a consulting detective, John."

After several long moments where neither man said a word, Sherlock got up from the table once more. "I will be at Mycroft's for the next two days, and give you time to think. You can decide by then what you'd like to do. If you think you will be unable to stop yourself from lecturing me or trying to change my mind, then we'll discuss who moves out of Baker Street."

Sherlock pulled his coat around him, swiftly exiting the apartment and leaving John to stew alone in his thoughts. After a few moments, John moved to the window.

Sherlock stood on the edge of the kerb, with his hands stuck in his pockets. Not two seconds later, Mycroft came striding out of Speedy's to stand behind his brother, wrapping him in a one-armed embrace to pull him away from the kerb. John watched as Mycroft dipped his head to speak into Sherlock's ear – or maybe to nuzzle it, he couldn't quite tell – and Sherlock turned ever so slightly to lean on Mycroft.

He watched the pair in their silent embrace, looking for all the world like just another couple stealing a moment on the busy streets of London. It struck John that they looked right together: like their bodies were made to slot into the spaces of the other's form, recklessness buffeted by sensibility.

Right then, he didn't know whether society was wrong, or whether they simply demanded, with the sheer strength of their connection, that the world make an exception for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John is SUCH a downer there was no other way for this chapter to go. 
> 
> Let me know what you think? Do you enjoy reading low-fluff expositions? I really tried to give this a silver lining, you guys.


	5. Vignette: The Parents Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> annyesha_1992: "i wonder what mummy holmes will say to this"  
> me: SAY NO MORE FAM.

Turning into the driveway, Mycroft put the car in park and turned off the engine. He looked over at Sherlock, who immediately reached for his hand, giving it a tight squeeze. After a steadying breath, Mycroft said, "I'm terrified."

"There's no reason to be. In the worst case scenario, we can finally spend Christmas in London instead of trekking up here." Sherlock tugged on his hand. "Come on, we can't sit here much longer, Mummy's sure to wonder what's taking us so long."

"Yes, yes, alright. Gloves on."

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he complied. Mycroft had wanted them to take off their rings, but he put his foot down on it. Instead, gloves would serve well enough to hide them.

Climbing out of the car, they made their way to the front door. Before they could reach it, however, it swung open, showing Mummy standing impatiently on the threshold. After exchanging the customary hellos, she said, "About time you boys arrived! Why don't you bring your bags in?"

"Well, that's the thing, Mummy–" Mycroft started to say.

"But before that, where's Father?" Sherlock interjected.

"Oh, he's just pottering about in his study. Why are the two of you acting so strangely? Aren't you coming in?"

Sherlock gripped onto Mycroft's arm discreetly before speaking. "We have a letter for the two of you that will answer all your questions, Mummy. You can tell us if we'll be staying after you've read it. In the meantime, it's quite nice weather for a walk, so that's what Mycroft and I will be doing. Mycroft, hand it over," he said, releasing Mycroft's arm.

Mycroft took an envelope out from his coat pocket and handed it over to Mummy while she sputtered. "Well, this is highly irregular, I can't imagine what you could possibly have to say that I would send you away! Also, it's _snowing_."

"I'm sure you can't," Sherlock mumbled under his breath. Out loud though, he said, "That will make the walk more picturesque. We're off now." He tilted his head towards Mycroft, and walked off the porch, picking a random direction to start walking in. Thankfully, Mycroft thought, he seemed to be heading towards a copse of trees.

Violet looked on, bewildered, as Mycroft attempted a shaky smile. "He never had much manners, despite our best efforts. See you in a while, Mummy." He reached out to give her a parting kiss on the cheek, before following behind.

She closed the door as they left, looking out the window at them. Faintly, she could hear Sherlock shouting, "Come _on_ , My!" Which wouldn't usually be of note – her youngest had never been known for his patience – but he hadn't called Mycroft that in a very long time. Happily, they had managed to repair their relationship in recent years, but she hadn't been aware that things had been that good.

She continued watching incredulously as Sherlock reached out to Mycroft, tugging him along by the hand. A memory of when Sherlock was six and Mycroft, 13, flashed through her mind, of some summer day that Mycroft had taken to teaching Sherlock outdoors, with the younger boy laughing and running ahead, pulling Mycroft along in his impatience.

Whatever could be in this letter? Clearly, it doesn't trouble them overly much; how could it trouble her? She could hardly believe how friendly her boys were now! Calling her husband over and explaining the curious behaviour, they sat down in front of the fire in the lounge and began to read.

_Dear Mummy and Father,_

_Sherlock and I have agreed that what we are about to tell you would be best said in a letter. I hope that you will give us your approbation and overmore, your blessing._

_There is no other way to put this but plainly: we are in a romantic relationship, and have been for the last three years._

_I know that this must come as a shock to you, as it did for us – and still does for me, sometimes. You see, the whole reason we fell out in the first place, though neither of us knew of the other person's reason then, was because of these feelings we had. Sherlock's reaction was to push me away, and mine was to allow him to._

_It may be hard or even impossible to accept, but I can only ask that you try. I was wholly devoted to Sherlock as a brother, and I will continue to do so as his partner._

_It has taken us over ten years to get to this point. Years of concealment, misery, and self-reproach, sentiments that I believe Sherlock would echo if he could bring himself to write of it. I have tried to change my feelings for him in that time – taken other lovers, removed myself bodily from this continent, drowned myself in work – to no avail. If that, and all the venom and malice that Sherlock had cast my way in that time, has been unable to erode even a whit of my love, then the only conclusion I can arrive at is that it never will._

_I do not propose to write more on my sentiments, but I hope it has conveyed at least a measure of its depth to you. If you cannot find it in you to accept my feelings, then try for Sherlock, at least. I do not wish for him to lose your support. I will always be there for him, loving him, whether it be in the position of lover, brother, enemy or anything he momentarily wishes me to be._

_Love,_

_Mycroft_

Mutely, they turned over the paper, where a separate, shorter note appeared in Sherlock's distinctive scrawl.

_Mummy and Father,_

_The situation is really quite simple. I love Mycroft, and have loved him as more than a brother since I was 16. There is nothing you or anyone can do about it. It thas taken me three years to convince Mycroft of this, and to show him that to love as we do carries no shame. If you have ever truly wished for my happiness, then accept that your wish has been granted, for I have found it with him._

_Try and be happy for us, for Mycroft's sake; he has always needed your approval more than I. As for me, I will be very cross if you undo any of my work and I do not promise to be civil about it._

_Sherlock_

_**_

Violet Holmes, the genius that had birthed two of her own, for several long minutes sat as dumbstruck as her husband. She stared into the fire until her eyes began to hurt. When she finally looked away, it was towards her husband. "Siger… What are we meant to do about this?"

He met her with a horrified look on his face. "I was counting on you to tell me that."

They groaned in unison, Violet's head dropping to Siger's shoulder as they linked hands. After a few more minutes, Violet said, "You should have seen Sherlock earlier, Siger. I haven't seen him that happy since he was 10. But also, I couldn't stop thinking about when they were children together. How am I meant to reconcile the two?"

Siger replied, somewhat disbelievingly, "Sherlock…happy?"

"He was playful, honey. It was as if…no, in fact, it was exactly that Mycroft was clearly uncomfortable and our self-centred child spared a thought to cheer his brother up."

"That's quite something. I'm not sure I believe you."

"I could hardly believe it myself."

They sat in silence for a while more, deep in their thoughts. Finally, Siger spoke up. "Maybe, maybe just for now, we could just take them at face value. I mean, it is so rare for either of them to be happy. I don't know if I could take watching them be, well, all loved up just yet, but if they could keep it to a minimum, it would be _so_ nice to have a Christmas without having to break up an argument over dessert."

Violet sighed wistfully. "Yes, that would be very nice. I just wish I could be sure that Mycroft wasn't in some way at fault in all of this. I mean, he _is_ the older brother after all, and Sherlock, well–"

"And Sherlock has always known his own mind," Siger interrupted. "You read the letters as well, Violet; it was Sherlock who pursued Mycroft. Maybe it would have been categorically wrong once, when Sherlock was much younger, but he is grown now. They both are. Let them be, at least for the week. Then we can reassess with more information."

Violet raised her head, and smiled softly at her husband. "I don't know why they say I'm the smart one, you know." She pulled him down for a soft kiss. "Alright, it's settled for now, then. I'd better go look in on dinner."

Siger nodded, as he migrated to sit closer to the window. Winter had always been his favourite season – if it was going to rain, anyway, it may as well snow and paint the town white. Before long, he saw two familiar figures emerge from the trees. He sat up, peering closely as they slowly approached. He watched as Sherlock, seemingly unnoticed, started to hang back, and started packing a snowball. Siger expected Sherlock to lob it, but instead, he ran back to Mycroft with a hand behind his back, and said something to him. They stopped in their tracks as they talked, before Mycroft leaned in ever so slightly and kissed him; Siger quirked an eyebrow, but his momentary discomfort quickly evaporated with a laugh when Sherlock's attempt at smashing the snowball on his brother's head was thwarted by Mycroft's quick reflexes, his fingers then caught between Mycroft's own as they separated.

Smiling to himself, he left the window so as not to be caught watching, and waited for the knock on the door.

**

_The brothers' perspective, from the trees:_

_As they escaped the relative seclusion of the trees, Mycroft fell into worried thought once more, not even realising that Sherlock had failed to keep up until he heard the fast crunching of snow._

_Back at Mycroft's side, Sherlock said, "Well, kiss me one last time before we face our fates."_

_Mycroft stopped in his tracks, looking at the house in the near distance. "We're awfully close."_

_"But not there yet. Besides, they know by now. Kiss me, Mycroft, and reassure me that whatever happens you'll still be mine."_

_Mycroft's gaze softened. "Always, lover mine." He leaned down for a gentle kiss. After but a second, he felt an odd shift in Sherlock's body–_ Betrayal! _His arm hand shot out to deflect as he broke off the kiss with a smack. "That was a dirty trick," he said, as he linked their fingers together._

_Sherlock grinned. "Yes, but it stopped you brooding, didn't it?" He laughed, pulling Mycroft along once again._

**

_**Continued in _Coalesce_ , series #4! ** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I love to hear what you think of it. Comment down below. xxx


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